


Distractions

by pottergerms



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grimmauld Place, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pottergerms/pseuds/pottergerms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kingsley was not his friend. He was not a paperboy. And Harry Potter was definitely not the hottest thing alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> This story is 100% inspired by this prompt: http://drarrysgirl.tumblr.com/post/126908978501/drarry-distractions
> 
> I had to bring it to life! Hope you guys don't hate it. It's one of my first fanfics in English, so be kind to me, please. And if one of you want to play Beta, feel free to help me! <3

Kingsley was dead to him. They could hold the funeral and bury the wanker, for all he cared. Doesn't matter if the Minister was his friend; after this, he was his _dead_ friend.

How dare he ask him to deliver some documents like he's a paperboy? And that's not even the point! He would happily help the Minister if it wasn't for one small detail: the delivery was for Potter.

It was not that they still hated each other, he thought. They both worked at the Ministry, Potter in "Magical Games and Sports", Draco in "International Magical Cooperation", and more often than not they had to work together on Quidditch-related affairs.

Although they were colleagues, it still felt uncomfortable to be around each other. From Potter's part it was probably because he would never be able to forget the past completely. From Draco's part it was, well... pure attraction, lust, infatuation or whatever you want to call it.

He couldn't even remember how it felt to hate Potter's guts anymore. Now he felt lightheaded whenever he had to talk to him, because of his smile and his eyes. _Those damn green eyes_. He was so infuriatingly handsome. Draco just wanted to avoid him until these feelings went away, because they were obviously unrequited; and he was too interested in keeping this scrap of friendship they had to risk it by wanting Potter.

But he couldn't deny a request from the Minister himself, so here he was, looking at the large wooden door of _12 Grimmauld Place_ , knocking and ringing the bell. He waited, but Potter wouldn't answer the sodding thing. Maybe it was for the best. He was probably on a date; it was his day off, after all.

He turned and started to go back, both relieved and disappointed, when he heard the door open with a _click_. Oh shit.

"Malfoy?" He heard the familiar voice. "What are you doing here?"

Well, he would have to face him, so why not do it now? He turned back, hoping Potter would be somehow less attractive and familiar and warm. That's not what happened at all. In fact, his head was almost blown off, because _holy fuck_.

Harry Potter was looking at him sheepishly, wearing a pair of old faded jeans and no shirt. His torso was covered in a thin layer of sweat and he had baby blue paint all over his body. He was the hottest thing Draco had ever seen.

"...Kingsley?" He was so focused on the sweat drops falling from Potter's hairline to his chest he missed what the man said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Are those from Kingsley?" Harry asked again, pointing at the files Draco was holding with white knuckles, making the paper crumpled. He was even shaking a bit.

"Oh, yeah. That's why I'm here. He needs those signed today, so obviously I became your personal delivery boy." Draco said, faking annoyance. "Why are you… covered in paint?"

"I'm renovating the house..." Harry said, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry I look a mess; I didn't know you would… I'm sorry Kingsley made you come by the house. Anyway, come in."

A mess? Harry Potter was ridiculous. He was genuinely oblivious to how fit he was; he had no idea his body, his face and even his personality made him the dream husband to most of the Wizarding population. Hell, even Draco couldn't resist him (and he tried so hard).

"Do you want something to drink?" Potter asked as they entered the empty living room. "I have ice tea, water and lemonade. This heatwave is the worst I've seen in years." He said, smiling. "I was about to take a break anyway, so maybe we could talk for a bit. I'm sweating like crazy; I hope I'm not smelly. Sorry about that."

 _Oh, just shut up, Potter_ , Draco thought. He smelled like fresh paint and sex.

"No, it's fine. I would love some lemonade, actually." It was a desperate attempt to get rid of the man for a few minutes, to compose himself and stop blood from going south. He was wearing robes, thankfully, but it was still a risk.

"Oh, ok. Be right back."

Draco was left alone, looking at the majestic room. He knew this house, so it was weird to see its walls stripped of the dark wallpaper. Potter's presence was so strong in everything, from the baby blue paint he chose to the newspapers covering the floor. He was such a _muggle_ sometimes. It was... adorable.

"Here it is." Harry was holding two glasses, studying him. "Do you like it?" He was now looking at the walls. "I mean, it's not finished, but it's looking brighter, right?" At Draco's curious glance, he looked at the floor, a bit embarrassed. "This house is so dark, I wanted... to make it happier."

"It's nice." He said, trying to smile with the same warmth he felt when Harry smiled at him. He hated being cold like this. "Actually, it's great. My great-aunt Walburga would kill you, so it makes it even better."

And Harry laughed. It was so honest; his happiness was something beautiful to watch. Draco's fascination with the man would never end, apparently. It was like an exotic fruit that tasted heavenly; doesn't matter how many you had, it was still delicious every time.

"Maybe I should bring her portrait to watch us ruin her house!" Harry said, jokingly. He finished his lemonade and took their glasses back to the kitchen, bringing two thick brushes and a bucket full of paint with him. "Well, since you're here, you might as well help me." He threw one of the brushes to Draco.

He desperately wanted to watch Harry work; his muscles flexing, his face clenched in concentration. But he was wearing his best robes and just the thought of spilling paint on them made him scowl.

"You don't have to help, it's ok! I was just..." Harry looked at him, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"No! It's fine, I'll help."

After that, they painted in silence for a while. Draco was beginning to regret the idea for a different reason; the room was boiling hot and he was feeling dizzy. This heatwave was no joke. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Taking off his robes would mean being close to Potter wearing only a thin shirt and trousers. And that, my friend, was risky business.

"Potter… it's too hot to work in here. Why don't you use a fucking cooling charm?"

Harry looked at him, finding the whole ordeal very amusing, apparently. "This house is too cold, I don't like making it even worse with magic. And I appreciate the heat. Why don't you… you should take off your robes. You must be uncomfortable in them. I mean, if you want to."

He didn't know what to make of Potter's guilty look. It was almost as if he wanted him to take off his clothes... Sure, like that was a possibility! The heat was definitely affecting Draco's brain.

He went to the kitchen to clear his mind, taking off the damn robes on his way. He put his head on the sink and opened the tap, feeling the cold water soaking his hair and collar. That was better.

When he felt ready to face Potter with just a layer of clothing to hide his erection, he went back to the living room.

"Oh, you're back." Harry said and turned to look at him. His eyes widened and he bit his lower lip, taking the other man's appearance. Draco's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong arms; his trousers clinged to his thighs and arse, leaving less to imagination than was sane; his hair was wet, dripping water on his shoulders and neck. "Let's get back to work, then." He said, swallowing.

And they did. Well, they tried to, anyway.

Draco kept looking at Potter's arse, so perfect and round, making him want to take a bite, completely oblivious to the other man glancing his way every three seconds.

Harry was entranced by Malfoy; he already knew the man was hot, but _fucking hell_! It was criminal to look this edible while soaking a brush and running it up and down the walls, making the simple act of painting look devious and _oh God_ , he was hard.

"Potter, what's the matter?"

Oh no, Malfoy would take a look at his crotch any second now and he would realise Harry was a pervert. He had to do something. Before he could have a better (and saner) idea, he took his brush and painted the other man's nose, forcing a laugh.

"Got you!"

"Fucking… Potter! Oh, but you'll lose."

After that, it was a mess. They threw paint at each other, laughing, the tension momentarily forgotten. Draco could watch Potter smiling _because of him_ forever.

They were soon trying to grab each other by the hair, to make as much damage as possible, and Harry pushed him to a wall, the only one still bare, holding him by the nape. His smile died down, his eyes focused on Draco's lips. They were so close.

Feeling brave, Draco did what he fucking wanted to do. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and closed the distance between their lips, kissing him squarely on the mouth. He could smell paint and that distinct smell that was _so Potter_. Their mouths were moving, clashing, their teeth grabbing what they could, lips and tongues entwined.

He didn't want it to end, but they had to breathe. So they withdrew their mouths, eyes opening slowly to try and read the other's expression, both panting and still holding each other, hands on backs and napes and bodies too close for comfort. Harry smirked.

"Look, I-" Draco tried to say, but Harry's lips were on his again, this time more forcefully, trying to devour him.

And he was melting, the heat from the room and from Harry making him feel weak at the knees. In no time they were on the floor, Draco being straddled my him, their hips moving together, trying to feel more and more and _more!_ of that heat, that hardness. They were moaning and laughing and it was glorious.

Soon their remaining clothes were in a corner, ruined by paint; but it didn't matter, not when Harry was licking every inch of skin he could see; the desire hidden for too long, turning him into a thirsty man in a desert and Draco was a fucking _oasis_.

And then Potter was sucking him and he almost died. He looked down, their eyes meeting. To be sucked and licked and cherished by this man was the most erotic thing the world had ever seen. It was like the perfect wet dream. But the man planned to drive him crazy (well, what's new?), apparently, because he stopped.

"Potter, you better-" But Harry was already up, grabbing Draco by the shoulders, making him stand.

"I'm going to fuck you against the wall. Ok?" Harry said, and his tone was low and husky, so different from the sweet man he was on a daily basis. It made Draco want to bite and lick and kiss his neck, so that's what he did.

"You better stop teasing and fuck me right now, Potter." He whispered in his ear.

Potter moaned and put one of his legs between Draco's, forcing them open. Draco was jelly at the moment, so he just obliged and held the other man by the nape, trying to keep steady.

With a look of concentration, Potter accio'd the lube without a wand or word. Fuck, that was hot. Draco felt a slick finger push inside of him, making him wince at the slight pain. Harry was patient and smirked when he finally moaned, ready for more.

"Now, Potter. Seriously, just fuck me already."

Harry just grabbed his two legs, hooking them around his waist, lifting him from the floor and pushing him against the wall. He aligned his cock to Draco's entrance and _pushed_.

It hurt, it really did. But Draco was so wrapped up on the fact that Harry Potter, the man he fantasised about since he was 15, was _finally_ fucking him, he felt numb. After a few quiet seconds, only their breaths making any noise, Potter moved. First slowly, then like an animal. It was not angry sex, like Draco thought it would be; it was wild, regardless. It was so different from his previous experiences. There wasn't hate at all, but the feeling was just as strong. It was like fire filling his chest, making him feel wanted.

Before they could actually get used to the sensations, Harry groaned (he fucking _screamed_ ) and came. Draco was almost there and before the other man's cock could get too soft, he came as well, painting their chests with come.

Harry let him go slowly, both feeling breathless. They were still very close, foreheads touching, eyes connected.

"Fuck, Malfoy. That was incredible."

"Yeah… I think we ruined the walls, though." He said, looking at the mess. They smiled at each other.

"I think we should maybe ruin it some more, if you're up for it."

Draco smirked. "Bring it on." He said, before kissing Potter again, his whole life finally making sense.

Kingsley was definitely not dead. In fact, Draco owed him one.


End file.
